


Hurry Up, We'll Be Late!

by TeriyakiPrinces



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, BAMF Hermione Granger, Dimension Travel, Hermione is pissed, MOD Hermione, Master of Death, dammit, sneaky Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-13 12:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7976734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeriyakiPrinces/pseuds/TeriyakiPrinces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So here she was, a secret agent's sister in another dimension.<br/>Death's Master?<br/>More like Death's Bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In A Universe Far Far Away, Yet Not So Long Ago

The witch woke up at dawn, wrapped in a fluffy down blanket against the encroaching winter chill. Her mornings were a mass of muscle-memory-driven actions such as getting up, slipping into her slippers, walking out of her room wrapped in her fluffy robe, and making herself and her friend (whenever he woke up) a nice steaming hot cuppa. The wandless and silent Habitus came naturally to her now. No one wanted a cold cup of coffee in the morning.

She'd curl up on the velvety sofa, a book would be opened, and she'd stay like that until her friend finally woke up- after two to three cups of black coffee.

Thus, her days were started.

Hermione Granger – Hermione Barton now, she reminded herself – had made a new life for herself, over seas and over worlds.

It had all started, well, ended, when Harry so incredibly insensibly gave her the Elder Wand. She said gave, but in all actuality he had tricked her into disarming him, the git. About two years later on her 20th birthday, a package was left on the doorstep of her small apartment above Flourish and Blott's. It included a much too short note, saying that he hoped whatever was inside came in handy on her exploits. She would have recognized the silvery material anywhere.

After refusing her insistence to return his family heirloom to him, Harry had asked her if she'd like to come with him to find an object he had left behind in the Forbidden Forest, of all places. Stupidly, she had agreed.

The man should have been Sorted into Slytherin, dammit.

So here she was, a secret agent's sister in another dimension. She still had her magic, thank goodness, though it had manifested in slightly strange ways since she had been brought here.

When she says brought here, she means dragged kicking and screaming to be born again. Kicking and screaming.

Death's Master?

More like Death's Bitch.


	2. The Set is Staged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything is (not) explained.

Hermione Granger, war heroine, author of such books as Tom: The Rise and Fall of a Dark Lord, and Harry: The Boy Who Lived and Died and Lived Again (A personal favorite of many a Weasley to quote at family gatherings), and reciever of the most prestigious honor of being appointed to the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle (much to the confusion of many a muggle), had died at a very young age- 27 to be exact.

Ironically being grouped in with such legendary figures as Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, and Kurt Cobain in the morbidly yet startlingly accurately named “27 club”, after being outed as a fantastic children's book writer and political figure after she ran and won the seat of Prime Minister at 24 years of age.

The exact details of death were published across many newspapers and online forums. For posterity, that shall not be recounted in response to the reader's delicate grip on reality. Suffice it to say that it was not a peaceful death, and that the case was closed only after the death of the murderer- a strange Welsh man by the name of Jim Moriarty.

Lady Hermione Granger's closed- casket funeral was a lovely affair, the guests ranging from Her Majesty the Queen Elizabeth II of England, to David Bowie, and of course her personal friends (many of the muggles in attendance still question the legitimacy of their claims).

This is where the Death of Hermione Granger takes a turn for the unbelievable.

Because who would believe anyone when they claimed that merely three days after being announced dead in possibly the most violent murder of the last two centuries (yes, this includes Jack the Ripper), the deceased rose from beyond the grave?

No one with a sound mind, that's who.

~

Hermione Katherine Barton was born to Harold and Edith Barton in Waverly, Iowa on September 22nd, 1981. She had two older brothers- Charles Bernard Barton and Clinton Francis Barton, 13 and 10 years old respectively.

About a year after Hermione was born, her father and mother died in a drunk-driving accident on the way back from the family butcher shop.

Hermione does not understand the bit of relief she sees in Barney's eyes behind the grief for their mother.

The three Bartons were placed in 'The System' and had to fight to stay together- since their little sister was only a year old, that meant that the boys had to be the ones to fight the Social Security (they liked to call them the SS after reading a book on World War II) idiots who didn't think a 14 year old and 11 year old had any rights to their own flesh and blood.

As they said, idiots. Because what is more important than blood?

As it turned out, money was more important than an education- especially with the constant need for batteries for Clint's hearing aide. And it was soon discovered by the brothers that a circus may not have been the best place to raise a 3-year-old kid.

But Mr. Carson fed and clothed them and kept them off the streets- even if that meant they had to sleep behind the tiger cage.

Time passed, and Clint becomes obsessed with training to take over for Trick Shot, the circus's resident archer. Barney takes the SATs and gets a decent score, so he takes the GED.

His five year old sister watches as the bus takes him away to the Army, holding her 16 year old brother's hand.

She never sees him again.

She is never bitter about it, though. She understands that it is the way her life will always work- someone she trusted will always leave her behind.

But Clint is still there.

And he will always be there for her. He's never promised it, but she knows that he would never abandon his little sis. The tears they both cry that night seals the unspoken deal.

Blood is thicker than anything, and that means there is nothing but staying together on their minds.


	3. The First Meeting (Actually the second, but who are we to do math on a Sunday?)

The first time Hermione met Death, she was ten. She was on her way from school when a grayish hand grabbed her out of nowhere- truly, there wasn't a shady alley in sight- and pulled her through what she would later realize seemed to be thick parchment.

The tall cloaked figure would have seemed at the very least related to a dementor, if not for the grinning skull staring down at her from a gray tattered cloak.

Hermione screamed.

This was, of course, a terrifying situation to be found in. Especially if you are a 10 year old girl with no recollection of her previous life (lives).

'Master, do not be alarmed' A smooth yet paradoxically rough as well voice resonated through the mist-covered landscape.

Hermione screamed louder.

“I'm not your master! Please don't hurt me! I just want to go home! Please!”

At this moment Death itself was glad it had no eardrums to burst.

'Mistress, you will not be harmed' Hermione closed her mouth.

“I- I think that you can go back to you calling me master. Mistress sounds really weird.”

'As you wish, Master'

As the two lapsed into an uneasy silence, on Hermione's part, she looked around in trepidation at the curls of what looked like mist straight out of a Tim Burton movie as they tangled through her limbs.

'Do not worry, the Mist can only affect mortals'

Hermione might have been only ten, but she damn well knew what a mortal was.

“I- aren't I mortal?”

'No'

Well, that seemed to be as good an explanation as any.

The air was still, as Hermione continued to look around them at the obscuring mist.

“Why am I here? Where is here? And why do you call me master?”

'I have brought you here, to the Divide, to help you remember, as I have before. You are the Master of Death, and so I call you Master.'

“This is insane,” Hermione whispered to herself, “You're saying I know you. I don't!”

'You must remember'

A sense of intense foreboding pressed down around Hermione's slim shoulders, and she vigorously shook her head at the skull thin- Death. 

It certainly sounded insane...

She hoped she was dreaming.

The entity floated over to her in eerie silence.

A hard pinch on her forearm proved otherwise, and her shoulders sank lower still with the sudden realization.

There was nothing she could do. She was going to remember, and dammit she didn't want to.

Should she have run?

But there was no reason to run, because Death would always find her.

She knew she had always known more than she should, matured faster, understood better.

Maybe this was going to show her why she was like this.

As the ratty cloak of death circled around her, enveloping her in an unsettling warmth- lukewarm, really, Hermione Katherine Barton remembered everything.

At least she retained her original name this time, was her first thought.

That seemed like a good sign.


	4. An eye for an eye leaves our heroine satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a snippet of Hermione's previous lives. Brownie points to anyone who can figure them out (even one) and a dedication next chapter (which I promise will come!)  
> I've got a basic timeline figured out, and where this fic will be diverging from cannon, but I'm always open to ideas, so please voice them, it'll speed up my writing.  
> Along those lines, anyone have specific events/things they want to see next chapter?  
> Enjoy this longer than normal chapter!  
> You catch any mistakes, please inform me!

Now that Hermione had met Death, she began to remember.

  
She remebered being an ancient king writing in soft clay in cuneiform. Of proclaiming new, amazing ideas to the citizens of Athens, in the shadow of the great Acropolis. Of putting pen to paper and creating soaring churches. Of streaking through the sky and the feeling of, _I'm almost there_!

  
And she remembered the darker pasts. Of finding her beautiful, poor, heartbroken queen on the floor of her palace, a fanged bite mark on her delicate collarbone. She remembered being chased in dense woods, running from the trap her people had laid, almost to freedom but not quite there. She remembered the vivid orange and yellow and red flames as they danced around her and the stench of her hair burning. Of sinking through the salty water of a turbulent ocean, knowing that no one would ever find her now. She remembered a stench-filled room, and _oh God how happy she was for even one shower._

  
She remembered the multitude of lives she had lead, even the ones she didn't remember anything in.

  
~

Hermione Barton was a smart kid. You'd be sure to know this if you were ever around her teachers, or her older brother.

  
But unknown to them, she tried with all she had to be a normal kid- albeit one who had been raised by a circus, and with no family other than her older brother. She even read books on childhood development to match that of an average American girl.

  
Suffice it to say, she failed.

  
Miserably.

  
It turns out it's nearly impossible to break a habit spanning several lifetimes and multiple dimensions. So, quite predictably, wherever she went, Hermione was instantly labeled a bookworm by her 'peers'.

  
Which meant that after several cities and towns and living situations and schools, Hermione had a serious problem with kids that were 'her age'.

  
It was 19 days before her twelfth birthday, and she was absolutely devastated. After moving to five different cities in the last three years, Clint had decided to relocate to a more permanent location: the Windy City. She had just gotten to know a girl by the name of Sherry Williams and started to think of her as her friend when they had relocated halfway across the country.

Sherry was her first friend in this life, and dammit she was starved for some attention apart from her 22 year old brother's.

And then they had to move, and she had barely a thought out objection because, if truth be told, the country life really didn't agree with her.

And let it be known, she would never be proud of what ensued on her first day in Hawkins Elementary School of Chicago, Illinois, on September 3rd, 1992.

~

Chicago was a city of poverty, and culture, and danger. The first thing they did, of course, was find a place to rent far away from potentially dangerous areas such as Cabrini-Green and the West Side.

They ended up in one of the north-west neighborhoods, in the middle of the quiet similarity of near-suburbia. The place they rented was a renovated attic, two bedrooms and a small kitchen, owned by an older polish couple. There was supposedly some storage space above the drop-ceiling, but they never really payed it any mind. Thy had few enough possessions that the house was never really cluttered.

Down the block from their little home was Hawkins Elementary, the school Hermione was going to be attending.

One look at the brick facade, and she knew she would hate the place.

At 11 years of age, Hermione Barton entered sixth grade on September second. She was introduced to the class, and assigned a seat at a group of four desks.

Two hours in, and three subjects gone over, it was time to line up in straight rows to head down to lunch.

This was when the problems really started.

Everything was fine, until a boy in her class moved to sit in front of her, followed by his group of friends. He had been pointed out to her as the one 'every girl had a crush on' by a girl at her desk group.

Hermione groaned internally and ducked her head to her book.

“Hey, what's your name again?” she rolled her eyes at the boys' nonchalant tone, which he was failing miserably at, by the way, as startled gasps were heard over the raucous lunchroom.

“Barton.” she replied stiffly.

The boy, ever the drama queen, shot his hands in the air, puffing out an affronted laugh.

“Woah, I was just asking nicely, dude.”

“Well, _dude_ , I don't particularly like you talking to me, as I am reading a book infinitely more interesting than what you have to say.” Yes, she knew she sounded bratty, and was using bigger words than any of the eighth graders could probably understand, but who could fault her? The book was really, really interesting.

A startled laugh was emitted from between his lips, before she felt a hand grab hers. The hand pulled roughly, and a loud tearing sound was drowned out by pre-adolecent chatter.

Hermione saw red.

Hermione Katherine Barton turned her head slowly to the perpetrator of the heinous crime, her eyes finally landing on a blonde boy with mousy hair in a terrible haircut, laughing at her murderous expression in a slightly stilted manner.

At once, the girl snapped her injured book shut, yanked her arm from the limp grip, and snarled lowly at the young boy before her.

~

She remembered being marched with the boy to the principal's office, and staring at the beer-bellied older man behind the metal desk.

He was absolutely _nothing_ like Albus Dumbledore.

In the end, through joint work and a lot of puppy-dog eyes, the two children got off Scot-free, albeit one with a fearsome reputation she had absolutely no inclination to stymy.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes? No? Maybe so?


End file.
